


intermission: antivan sunset

by pegaeae



Series: the life, the lyna, the legend [6]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-23 21:10:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17087795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pegaeae/pseuds/pegaeae
Summary: a wedding is a wedding, except when it isn't





	intermission: antivan sunset

“I don’t like this,” she says.

Zevran’s hands stop in the middle of adjusting the drape of her dress, resting warm and comforting on her narrow hips. “The dress itself, or just the fabric?” he asks, looking up at her from his crouching position as his hands slide down the length of her thighs and pull the hemline straight.

Lyna twists so she can see him, looking back over her shoulder as he tsks at her for undoing all of the work he’d put into making her look spotless. She scowls. “Don’t use that tone with me, you know it’s not going to look nice for more than five minutes. It’s not the dress anyway, that’s fine. It’s all of… All of  _this_ ,” she waves her hand, vaguely gesturing to the room they’re in.

Sitting back on his haunches, Zevran reaches out to take Lyna’s hand and gently tugs her down to his level. He laces their fingers together. “We do not have to get married if you do not want to, my dear Lyna,” he says, searching her face with serious eyes while his lips twitch up into a smile. “Though it may be a significant blow to my ego.”

Her lips curl up into the half sneer, half pout that Zevran has come to associate with Lyna struggling to decipher her emotions. He’s found it’s better, _easier_ , to keep his mouth shut and let her battle with herself until she decides what she wants to say. It had been difficult enough to get her to open up in the first place.

“It’s not that,” Lyna says at last, running her thumb over his hand. “If I didn’t want to marry you at all, neither of us would be here,” she pauses and then clarifies, “because we’d probably have killed each other.”

Zevran laughs, full-bellied and honest, and leans forward to brush the barest butterfly kiss against her lips. “That is the truth,” he agrees, “but here we are instead, huddled like plotting thieves in the backroom of the Chantry.”

“That’s it.” Lyna puts her free hand on Zevran’s knee. “Not the–not the thieves part, that’s what we are, but why are we here, Zevran? Why are we in the Chantry? Why are we waiting to parade ourselves in front of a chapel full of shemlen?”

“Because the Queen was impressed with your hard work saving the people of Amaranthine from the darkspawn, and wanted to reward you for it?” Zevran guessed. “I wasn’t there, but I imagine it was breathtaking.”

“I got the city burned down,” Lyna interjects and Zevran laughs again, “So I heard. That sounds like you.”

“My point is,” she continues, “this isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here. It feels like–like… you remember when we were in Denerim and that man came through with his captive bear? And he dressed it up in silks and had it do tricks and dance for the shems?” Zevran nods. “That is what I feel like. The Queen’s captive savage elf she parades out in… in silken finery and jewels, and shows off to her court. How  _kind_  of the Queen to pay for the Warden-Commander’s wedding–at the mere cost of every noble and half of Denerim’s populace being in attendance.” Her hand goes to her throat. “This neckpiece alone could feed my entire clan for at least a year, Zev.” She shakes her head and Zevran watches as her hair, so fine and silken, begins to slip from the elaborate, braided updo he’d worked so long to create.

“We do not have to stay,” Zevran says.

Lyna’s head jerks up, brows knitting together. “What?” she asks. “Of course we do.”

Zevran’s mouth twists into a wry smile, “We do not. What is the Queen going to do–arrest you for not accepting her generosity? Take away your jewels and clothes? Since when have you needed those, Lyna?” he traces her jaw with his fingers and kisses her again. “Am I still marrying the woman who called my earring gaudy and ugly?” He tilts her head back down to press their foreheads together, runs one finger down the shell of her ear, lingering at the lobe where the gold and ruby earring hung. “We can leave now and be on a ship to anywhere you desire by sundown. I certainly do not need the Maker to sanctify this marriage, and I am sure you do not either.”

“Anywhere?” she says, hushed, as if the freedom she has imagined for so long is finally, for the first time, within her grasp.

“I am, of course, biased towards Antiva,” he says, “but I assure you, Seleny is beautiful this time of year.”

She surges forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and knocking him to the ground. Slight as she is, it still leaves him laughing and breathless, cheeks aflame as she smothers him in kisses, hands trailing down his chest to untie the laces of his shirt. “Wait, wait!” he manages, grasping her hands in his and rolling the two of them over until she is on her back and he is straddling her hips. He presses his own kisses to her face and then leans back to admire her–lips parted, face flushed, hair half-undone and spread beneath her like a crow’s wing. He runs a knuckle down her cheek. “As eager as I am to participate in our wedding night festivities, I do believe we should probably wait until we are away from here, unless you are partial to clerics walking in on us.” Zevran pats her hip as he stands and offers one hand to help her to her feet. “I expect you have an escape plan?”

Lyna grasps his hand and pulls herself to her feet. “You know me too well,  _ma’len_ ,” she says, grinning wickedly.


End file.
